A Day Out: Margate

It really was not the best day for a trip to the seaside. Most of the time it was rainy and blustery, but considering Piran and I are both still currently “funemployed” there was no reason not to go for it. Plus, I was promised a visit to the famous Margate Shell Grotto, which seemed like as good a reason as any to hop a train and see what there was to see.

Of course it was raining when we stepped out of the station at Margate and made our way to the seaside. However, all was not lost as we quickly diverted to a cheery double decker bus converted into a café that overlooked the beach. There we had unconventional bacon sandwiches and watched while the rain stopped, then started again, then stopped again, then… well you get the idea. It was the theme of the day.

I call this photo “Antici-bacon”

Margate was the first of England’s seaside resorts (its resort-i-ness dating back to 1705) and had its heyday back when the seaside was a favourite option for a family summer holiday. The Great English Seaside Holiday was most popular in the 1950s, spurred by the Holiday Pay Act of 1938, easy transport links by rail and road, and the establishment of holiday camps like Butlin’s. The era of package holidays and cut price air fares to Majorca was still years away. Towns like Blackpool and Morecombe served the north, with Londoners likely to visit Brighton or Margate. It sounds like it was quite idyllic.

"Whether it was a day out at the seaside or a fortnight, all British resorts offered fun and escape from daily life. There were amusement arcades, candyfloss stalls and seafood shacks selling cockles and whelks in paper cones. Cafes with Formica tables and wooden chairs served fish and chips accompanied by mugs of hot tea and white bread and butter. There were donkey rides on the beach, crazy golf, helter skelter slides and dodgems. Along the promenade you would find shops selling rock, postcards, buckets and spades, along with plastic windmills and packets of flags to adorn the sand castles.” From here

The Margate we visited had clearly seen happier days, as is the case with most of the great old seaside towns. But recently Margate has been rebranded “Shoreditch-on-Sea” - a newly revived hipster hangout touted as “Kent’s capital of cool”. A quick Google results in a cheery array of articles with titles like “How to take the ultimate trip to this coastal gem” and “A perfect day in Margate”. I was ready to be impressed, though Piran was skeptical. After we finished our bacon sandwiches, we struck off to find out if Margate 2019 stacks up to the hype - Coastal Gem or Dismal Dregs? (And for the record the bacon sarnies were different because the bacon was cut into odd chunks instead of slices, which I think is why they took an inordinately long amount of time to arrive. It was clearly good quality bacon though, so worth the wait in the end.)

So far, so grey, but better was to come.

Our first stop must have been one of Margate’s great selling points as a seaside holiday spot: Dreamland! A permanent amusement park located right at the seaside, Dreamland was first established in the late 19th century and by the 1920s boasted the famous “Scenic Railway”, the first roller coaster built in the UK, and now a  Grade II* listed heritage site. Dreamland and the Scenic Railway have had their ups and downs (see what I did there?) with expansion, closure, fire, re-opening, delays, financial troubles, and re-re-opening marking the history of the venture. Happily it’s now open again and now doesn’t even charge an admission fee. I wouldn’t say it was heaving with custom on a rainy Saturday, but that just meant there was no queue for the famed Scenic Railway.

Below the tracks they have cleverly displayed the machinery of the engine. It’s like they knew I was coming!

The ride has been completely rebuilt three times since 1920 - the pulleys and clutch mechanism are the only original parts left.

Also, the Dreamland roller coaster is so old-fashioned it requires a live brakeman to control the speed of the train during the ride.

Which was apparently terrifying for some of us.

The ride was short but fun, though the rest of the attractions at Dreamland - carousels, and other more daredevil offerings - did not tempt us. We did, however, spend a very happy chunk of time in the warm and dry arcade where Canada bested England in air hockey (naturally) and the investment of two pounds in 2p coins yielded an impressive haul from the coin pusher machines.

Skittles, popping candy (AKA pop rocks), jelly beans, a Dreamland pencil sharpener, a tiny model plane and at least half an hour of solid amusement. I think that was £2 well spent.

Following our triumph in the arcade it was time to find the famous Margate Shell Grotto. First - a quick reminder for the vocabularically challenged: a grotto is a small picturesque cave, especially an artificial one, or an indoor structure resembling a cave. (Also, "vocabularically": of or pertaining to vocabulary. Obvs.) It’s generally agreed that the Margate Shell Grotto was first discovered in 1835, the most colourful account being that "in 1835 Mr James Newlove lowered his young son Joshua into a hole in the ground that had appeared during the digging of a duck pond. Joshua emerged describing tunnels covered with shells. He had discovered the Shell Grotto, its walls decorated with strange symbols mosaiced in millions of shells.” From here.

They are not kidding when they say “millions” of shells. Every inch of the walls and the arched ceiling of the caves is covered.

That’s the Shell Grotto - an artificial series of subterranean hallways and rooms completely covered in more than 4.6 million tiny seashells. The caves themselves are not extensive. We’re not talking Chiselhurst here. Not even Hellfire. (Which I also visited but didn’t blog about because honestly people, I can’t tell you absolutely everything I do or I wouldn’t have time to do any of it.) The Shell Grotto caves are not deep or massive - they’re only a few steps below street level and consist of just 104’ of corridors 3-4’ wide. But what they lack in size they make up for in intricacy and mystery.

The entrance passage splits in two and then converges again at an area called the Dome, a peaked area that reaches up to ground level where it’s capped with a window that allows light in.

Here you can see the natural light spilling in through the dome.

Prior to their discovery in 1835 there is apparently no record of the grotto anywhere. No documents or maps have ever been found, meaning that everyone is free to speculate about their origin and purpose. One popular theory is that the caves are a rich man’s folly (an ornamental building or structure with no practical purpose). Apparently shell grottos were popular in the 17th century, though hiding one under farmland that was never part of a larger estate would be very odd. And how would an undertaking like that have escaped being recorded somewhere?

Others think the grotto might have been a meeting place for a secret society or that it has some sort of religious or spiritual significance. It’s easy to read what you want into the designs on the walls.

For instance, the printed guide sheet calls this the “Birth Panel”. I would call it something more like “Mirror Tulip”. Or possibly "Feed Me Seymour".

This area in the room at the end of the passageway is called the Altar

Most of the shells that make up the patterns are assumed to have been sourced locally. The grotto is less than half a mile from the seaside and the mussels, cockles, whelks, limpets, scallops, and oysters that outline the designs are all local. However, the background of the patterns are filled in with millions of flat winkle shells, which don’t occur locally and were probably brought from somewhere nearer Southampton. When they were discovered the shells were more brightly coloured. Very soon after it was discovered the grotto opened to the public and not long after that it was internally lit with gas lamps. The residue from the gas lamps dirtied the shells and though tests have been done to try cleaning them, the shells have lost their original colour. Cleaning them wouldn’t bring them back to their original state, and could damage them further.

This modern reproduction in the small museum at the entrance to the tunnels shows what the shells might have looked like when they were new. This is also the only place where you’re allowed - even encouraged - to touch shells on the wall. They want you to get it out of your system here so you’ll keep your grubby paws off their Grade II* listed walls once you’re inside.

There being only a few short passages, it wasn’t long before we felt like we’d fully partaken of the Shell Grotto experience and were ready to sample a few more of Margate’s delights, though the weather continued to be fickle. We made our way along the sea front and out to the end of the harbour arm that shelters the small bay at the heart of Margate’s seaside. It being windy and grey, we didn’t tarry and soon ended up at Margate’s newest attraction and part of what drives its fresh claims to hip-ness: the Turner Contemporary Gallery. Opened in 2011 the gallery is named for JMW Turner, the famed 19th century English romantic painter. Turner went to school in Margate and visited often. As the name implies, the gallery’s focus is on modern art, and it was intended to be a catalyst for reinvigorating the town. Reaction has been mixed, with people objecting to the architectural style and claiming it’s gentrifying the area and threatening the traditional seaside attractions of the town. Personally, I was mostly pleased that within the gallery I was able to find a comfy spot to sit and rest my feet for a bit. And though Piran found the exhibition of seaside photography unfocused, I enjoyed it, though apparently not enough to take any photos.

Instead here’s a shot that nicely sums up the weather conditions for the day. "Variable" just about covers it.

And this shows the gallery in context. It’s the sort of featureless light blue-ish blocks at the top centre.

After the gallery we decided to take our chances with the weather and walk around the northeast corner of the Kent coast hoping to make it as far as Ramsgate, a distance of about 15km. This proved, at intervals, wet, windy, warm, and dry and took us along clifftops and down to some interesting chalk formations right on the beach.

The tide was too high to pass but we did have a nice wander through these chalk stacks before going back up to the cliff top.

The walk also took us through Broadstairs, where there were no notably wide stairs in evidence, but where we did get a quenching pint and saw some nice beach huts - another defining feature of the English seaside. Beach huts are tiny wooden shelters that appear in ranks along the edge of beaches. Usually owned privately, but sometimes rented out, they’re a quintessential part of the seaside experience. At roughly 8’ x 8’ these ones have a wooden awning that lifts up in front, supported by two large swinging doors that open out to the side, creating a bit of privacy and - crucially - a windbreak. And though they may be modest in size, beach huts often sell for outsized prices.

These ones are all locked up but you can see how they work. Check out this episode of one of my favourite shows to see a beach hut in all its glory.

We did make it all the way to Ramsgate well before dark and rewarded ourselves with dinner and a cheap bottle of rosé in a lovely and neighbourhoody Italian restaurant near the beach before shambling off to the poorly located station in Ramsgate, via a dodgy pub. The trip back to London was long and sleepy, as was the long long way back to my far-flung mooring. It was well past midnight by the time I got home, and considering I’d been up before six to get the train to Margate, I fell into bed with great relief.

In the end I can’t say that Margate bowled me over with its hipness or revitalised splendour. I’m sure on a warm sunny day, with the beach full and Dreamland in its glory it would be a different experience, though I think that experience would still feel more faded that fantastic. Even with 4.6 million seashells.